A Devil Went Down to Gotham
by FunkyDeadpool
Summary: Matt Murdock went to Gotham to bring down Bruce Wayne. He never knew that he'd be the one to replace Batman.


**Author's Note:**

 **I never published anything before. I would appreciate your honest feedback. I will try to publish a chapter weekly.**

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I don't own Batman or Daredevil.**

Matt Murdock began to second guess himself. There weren't many cities in the world that could claim to be more corrupt than New York. Gotham was one of those few cities. New York had its fair share of crazies. But Gotham had a reputation that made New York look like a paradise by comparison.

Matt wasn't worried for his own safety. He had handled enough costumed madmen to know what to expect from Gotham. No, what truly worried him was his lack of understanding of the city that he was moving to. New York, for all its faults, had more than a dozen different heroes to defend it. Between Spider-Man, the Fantastic Four, Luke Cage and several others, New York had a plethora of protectors. But Gotham only had one protector to speak of, and he had reportedly been missing for almost a dozen weeks. This meant that Gotham had become a wild west for crime.

With no Batman to be afraid of the criminals had emerged from their shadows to reclaim what the Bat had taken from them. With Batman's absence new heroes had to emerge to take his place. These heroes were not the costumed kind. Rather, they were regular people who simply wanted their city to return to some state of normalcy.

Matt had seen it on the news long before he was contacted by one such hero by the phone. The hero in question, a man by the name of Harvey Dent, achieved national fame when he took on Gotham's biggest white-collar criminal single-handedly in court. The Falcone versus Dent case was the type of legal battle that caused lawyers across the country to glue their eyes to their televisions. Matt was even amazed at the case. Matt had taken the Kingpin to court, and even that seemed tame by comparison.

Dent not only took on the Falcone boss in court, but he also won. Within a few nights the mob boss was behind bars and humiliated, and Dent had immediately become Gotham's biggest target. More than likely every scumbag with a violent streak heard of the massive price on Dent's head. But instead of backing down Dent doubled on his defiance. Dent used the threats to his advantage. His defiance to Gotham's criminal underground gave him a celebrity status that most lawyers weren't used to.

One night, shortly after his own battle in court with a kingpin named Wilson Fisk, Matt was contacted by phone from Dent. Matt initially thought it was a prank call. He mistook it to be a trick from his friend Foggy. Matt asked himself, why would a Gothamite "hero" like Dent bother with a broke New York slum lawyer like me?

Apparently, his court room rumble with Fisk made Matt famous to the lawyer crowd in Gotham. Dent wasted no time summoning Matt. After a bit of bribing and pleading he managed to convince Matt to do the most illogical thing he could think of. He convinced him to move his operation to Gotham. And so here he was, on an airplane, heading to the only city in the continental U.S. that was more dangerous than New York.

His friends Foggy and Karen begged him not to go. But Matt was never one to listen to reason. When he saw potential to do good among those who needed it most, Matt usually let his charitable Catholic side get the better of him. Still, the sudden turbulence in the airplane made Matt wonder for the worst. It wasn't that long ago that Gotham fell victim to a massive terrorist attack, headed by a clown-faced madman with an equally strange posse. The clown was reportedly locked up, but still. Even the "Man Without Fear" can't help but wonder if he's walking into a situation blind every now and then.

* * *

The old man stumbled his way to a red rose bush with glee. His oaken cane gracefully made up for his lack of step as he slowly made his way to the crimson red rosebush. His grey mustache tickled the flower as he sniffed its wet petals. The moisture from the petals stuck to his facial hair as he pulled away. His uninterested granddaughter rolled her eyes with distaste. She had become accustomed to witnessing her grandfather's seemingly addictive love of the outdoors. But he had spoiled her enough that she no longer had to pretend to enjoy such sites.

The park was remarkably empty for a weekend. The only people in site were the old man, his granddaughter, and two men in the distance playing frisbee. The girl glanced with disdain at her grandfather who still had his gray face submerged in the rose bush. She let out a scoff that was purposely made loud enough for him to hear. He half-stumbled around, his cane barely holding him in time. "I'm sorry my dear. Did I lose myself again? You know how much I tend to lose track of time on days as beautiful as this."

She rolled her eyes. No shorter than it took her to blink, a pitch-black car came pulling up behind them. It came with surprise silence considering how alone the girl and her grandfather had been in the park. The girl stood her ground, defiantly staring at the men as they emerged from the car. Her grandfather motioned for her to stand behind him. Reluctantly, she shuffled behind her grandfather as the final man emerged from the black vehicle.

The two men in the distance continued with the game of frisbee, oblivious to the meeting that was unfolding a few yards away. The granddaughter was uneasy. She brushed back her short dark hair as a middle-aged man from the black car casually walked towards them. Her grandfather, in a pleasant Welsh accent, wished the stranger good morning. "Beautiful day for a walk isn't it lads?" he said aloud. The stranger and his men only scoffed. A sadistic smile slid across the stranger's face.

In a thick Gothamite accent the stranger said "You know I'm not here for no mornin walk Cobblepot. But don't get me wrong. This can still be a good mornin for both of us." His smile faded slightly as he stepped in front of Cobblepot and his granddaughter. Cobblepot stared at the ground as the tall stranger stepped in front of him. His men circled around Cobblepot and his granddaughter. The girl snarled helplessly at the men as they gawked at them. She threatened them with a glance, but such gestures proved fruitless against men that were accustomed to killing.

"So, I gotta ask Cobblepot. It ain't personal. It's just business." The tall dark-haired stranger leaned in close to the old man and whispered, "Do you have my fucking money?" He stood back up immediately after the question, as though he knew what the answer would be even before Cobblepot could say anything. He stared down at Cobblepot with an arrogance that made his granddaughter glow red with rage.

The girl snarled her words when she yelled "He'll have your damn money next week Falcone!" Cobblepot jerked up with worry. His pale blue eyes were alight with a mixture of anger and concern at his granddaughter's harsh words. Falcone was not so much worried as he was infuriated. He was not accustomed to being sassed by a teenage girl. His leathery face glowed pink at what he perceived to be disrespect. "You better keep your girl on a leash there Cobblepot, before I have to smack her for ya". His words were idiotic to Cobblepot's ears, but he got the message. He motioned for his granddaughter to keep silent. She reluctantly agreed.

Falcone slowly smirked. His face was still red with prideful fury. But for the moment he accepted Cobblepot's surrender. "That's better. So now…what was that she said about my money? Next week? No…that's no good Cobblepot. I'm gonna need that shit now. Gotham is a hard city to control. With the Bat out of the picture it's been easier coming out of the shadows. But the trouble is…every costumed idiot with a mental condition has started popping out of the bushes now that our bat-lord-and-savior has went caput. Money is the only thing keeping order in this goddamn wasteland of a city. So, I'm not exaggerating when I say that I need every cent that I can get my hands on just to keep the grease flowing. I need the money today. Don't take it personal. As they say in Hollywood, 'It's just business.'"

Cobblepot's granddaughter scoffed with barely suppressed laughter. Falcone shot her a confused glance before Cobblepot himself chimed in with a chuckle. Cobblepot was not an impressive man to look at. The average person might mistake him for a tourist who was on vacation. He was hilariously short, barely standing above five feet tall. His black top hat in a cartoonish manner. But at a closer glance one might notice that he did in fact lack one thing. Cobblepot was one-eyed. This fact went largely unnoticed to most at first glance. His almost humorously large head and short stature meant that his glasses hid his missing left eye from most people.

Now that Falcone was staring at him harder, he finally noticed it. He'd barely ever looked at Cobblepot before. But now he noticed for once the strange glasses that Cobblepot wore, glasses that were blacked out with darkened tape on its left side in order to block the hideous left side of his face. Cobblepot was one-eyed. But not only that, he had a scarred left side of his face that looked more like hamburger meat than human flesh.

On a normal day Falcone might have inquired as to what happened to Cobblepot's face in the past. Why was he so deformed? He might have asked himself. But this time Falcone didn't have the time for such luxurious questions. Something about the old man's granddaughter distracted him. Her confidence was oddly unnerving. Most teenagers, teenagers who knew who he was anyway, knew enough to keep calm when he was around. But the Cobblepot girl seemed to be waiting for something. At first, he was afraid that she was awaiting cops. But Falcone had bought off all the cops that mattered in Gotham. The only cop that would dare come after him was Jim Gordon, and he was all but helpless without the Bat to aid him. So that couldn't be it.

Falcone stared at the girl when it suddenly hit him that old man Cobblepot himself had remained shockingly calm during the conversation as well. He never once lost his nerve. In fact, the old man seemed to be waiting on something as well. Cobblepot looked down at his watch, his mustache flicking in a cat-like manner as he seemingly interpreted the device on his wrist.

Impatient and unnerved, Falcone impulsively asked Cobblepot, "What the fuck are you waiting for old man? Are you expecting somebody?"

Cobblepot jerked his head upwards and responded "Oh just a new friend of mine. Say…have you ever heard of a man that goes by the name Deadshot?"...

Before Falcone had a second to answer, a series of bullets came flurrying from a few yards away. One of the men who had been playing with the frisbee earlier had suddenly jerked out an assault rifle and began firing on Falcone and his men.


End file.
